


A Series of Unfortunately Close Calls

by releasetheglitch



Series: When We Start [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Humor, M/M, an attempt is made at humor at least, nosey old ladies poking around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3198812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/releasetheglitch/pseuds/releasetheglitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which James and Q have an uninvited guest.</p>
<p>(aka. Be the Rom Com You Want to See in the World)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Series of Unfortunately Close Calls

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo I have three prompts lined up in my inbox and this is what I ended up writing instead. I'll get to them soon, I promise! In the meantime, here's my go at a BDSM-style romantic comedy.

Their doorbell chimed at a quarter past eleven in the morning, barely audible over the combined breathing of the two men tangled in the sheets.

 

"Don't answer it," growled Q. His glare wasn’t as effective as usual, trussed up as he was. James has him half-suspended in an elaborate pulley system attached to the ceiling. His hands were chained together, out of Bond’s way, and long legs dangled obscenely in mid-air where they hung from leather straps, letting James see every glorious inch of him. His stomach flexed every time James hit his prostate, unwilling twitch of downy hair pointing in a straight line to his cock. A steady trail of precum leaked onto his plump bollocks, the area glistened and flushed with need for stimulation. Red and puffy hole sucking him in needily where Bond pistoned into him without mercy.

 

James wasn’t going to. Really. But the way Q’s eyes sparkled with annoyance and imprudent demand made him mischievous. “You don’t tell me what to do,” he snarled instead, yanking Q up by the D-ring at the front of his collar and stopping the frenzied movement of skin slapping against skin. Q’s hips twitched forwards and he slammed them down, pressing hard against his abdomen so that Q was trapped there, body bent uncomfortably into a C-shape.

 

Q narrowed his eyes. “Sir, with all due respect, if you stop to get the door I will bury you under a mountain of paperwork so deep you’ll retire before you’re allowed back in the field.”

 

And, oh. Now James really had to do it, for no other reason than to reassert his dominance over his amusingly stroppy boy.

 

"I thought you'd have learned by now not to mouth off to your dominant," he shook his head, barely hiding his wicked grin as he pulled away entirely, ignoring Q’s howl of disbelief. The ever-present Walther went inside the pocket of his silk robe as James crept silently down the dim hallways of their flat. Most likely it was a salesman or a disgruntled neighbour asking them to keep the noise down, but you never know.

 

A cautious glance in the peephole and he relaxed, pulling the door open. "Mrs. Whittaker. How may I help you today?" he asked with his best charming smile, raising his voice a bit so Q could hear him from his position in the bedroom. As much as he wanted to tease his boy, he wouldn't subject him to needless anxiety over the identity of their visitor.

 

Their elderly neighbour beamed back at him, unfailingly cheerful in her flowered house dress and fuzzy slippers. "Good morning, dearie!" she warbled, brandishing a plate of warm cookies in front of her. Their sweet aroma wafted up to James' nose and he bent reflexively to inhale the scent: cinnamon and pumpkin and nutmeg.

 

"I made you boys some cookies," she continued, peering curiously behind James' bulky frame into the flat. Belatedly, James realized with some degree of horror that they had not cleaned up the results of their play the evening before and that there was, in fact, an obscenely large dildo standing upright on the living room table. He shuffled minutely, shoving a cookie into his mouth and adjusting his position to block her view.

 

"That's very kind of you, but—"

 

"Oh, look at this place. It's a mess! Honestly, men are rubbish at the domestics. You're not living with your parents anymore, you need to learn to clean up after yourself!" She clucked disapprovingly, pushing past James and shoving the large plate into his chest. "Here, go put that on the dining table while I get this nonsense straightened out."

 

"Ma'am, this is really quite unnecessary," James tried desperately, inching past her and staying on her left to keep the view of the living room hidden. He made a dash for it while she stopped to shake her head at the lump of Q's canvas coat discarded by the doorway. The dildo was still slimy with lube and made a loud squelching sound as he dislodged it, and he grimaced at the uncomfortable sensation as he tossed it under the couch.

 

"What was that, love?" she called, eyes blinking owlishly.

 

James wiped his hands surreptitiously on his dressing gown. "Nothing. Probably a bird."

 

If it was anyone else, he would have shot them by now, or at the very least shut the door in their face the moment they tried to peek inside. But he liked Mrs. Whittaker. She was sweet and motherly and frequently plied them with baked goods, and to be honest, anyone who helped keep Q fed was alright in Bond's books.

 

Shit. There was still the issue of Q, bound and needy in the bedroom. God forbid the old bird saw him in that state. James has been responsible for a lot of deaths, but giving an old woman a heart attack from scandalized shock has thankfully been left off that list. So far. Could he sneak into the bedroom unseen, untie Q and dress him while Mrs. Whittaker sorted their DVDs by alphabetical order or whatever else she was doing in their cabinet?

 

"Now, where is that nice young man of yours?" she asked, and he cursed internally.  "Is he still asleep? It's not good to sleep too long. Causes lethargy and laziness and all that. My Richard always used to say..." she chattered relentlessly as she headed towards the bedroom, and for a brief moment James cast about for something he could use to clobber her over the head and knock her out.

 

Her hand was on the doorknob when Q burst out, hair a mess and spectacles threatening to fall off his nose. He had on a garish red turtleneck that James swore he threw out ages ago and a pair of James' pyjamas, so big they pooled under his feet. Undid the knots himself then. Thank god.

 

"Good morning ma'am," he said calmly, betraying no sign of panic at the close call. "You look lovely as always."

 

She tittered and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, and James saw a strip of leather peeking out where her weight stretched the jumper downwards. Before she could notice, James strolled over and nudged the collar down, hiding the material from view once again. "Had a nice lie-in, love?" he asked blandly, wrapping an arm around him with casual ease.

 

Q's expression was carefully schooled, only the corner of his eyes betraying any sign of irritation. "Yes, though I apologize for being so late. I was a bit...tied up. Work and such."

 

"Oh, that's no good." Mrs. Whittaker shook her head sympathetically. "My Richard always used to gripe about me bringing work home. I remember once he said to me, ‘Laurie, I think you love those blasted spreadsheets of yours more than you love me!’ Silly, silly man. James, you could have taught him a thing or two about the virtues of patience.”

 

James shared a conspiratorial look with the old woman, ignoring the daggers Q shot at him as he did so. What patience? Certainly not when you jump out of a four storey building instead of taking the stairs like a sane person, the look said. He was torn between amusement at Q’s attitude and desire to wipe the insubordinate look off his face. When Mrs. Whittaker turned away, clucking at the “depressingly dark walls, dearie me, doesn’t it feel like living in a coffin?” James decided to put the boy back into his place.

 

Mrs. Whittaker had wandered into the kitchen by then, so James felt no qualms in snaking one finger through the D-ring in Q’s collar and yanking hard, the young man staggering backwards against his body with a surprised sound. He bowed his head obediently as James transferred his grip to the graceful bow of Q’s neck, pressing down even further and growling into his ear, “keep up the attitude and you’ll be in for it as soon as she leaves.”

 

Q made a noise in his throat that was half moan, half purr and when James slid a leg into the vee of his legs, his knees buckled. Pacified, James went one step further, cupping one hand over the still-interested cock enclosed in pyjama bottoms. Even through the layer of fabric, his grip was relentless and when he gave a slow squeeze, Q fell to his knees with a loud thump.

 

“Dears, are you alright? It sounded like something heavy fell over.”

 

Damn it.

 

“Just tripped over James’ ego,” Q called back with a hint of strain in his voice.

 

James chuckled as he helped Q up. “Brat.”

 

“You did promise to take it out on my hide when she leaves,” replied Q hopefully, adjusting his pyjamas to hide the stiff line of his erection. “By the way, has she found the photos on the mantlepiece yet? As much of an exhibitionist as you are, I doubt you want an eighty year old woman to know exactly what you look like in assless leather chaps.”

 

James cursed. “Shit. I’m going to go make sure that those are out of sight. You distract her in the kitchen and try to prevent her from touching that blender you weaponized last week. The last thing we need is the police knocking on our door asking why our sweet old neighbour has been pumped full of bullet holes.”

 

With a rueful grin, Q nodded. “Between our work and private lives, it’s really very problematic having people over, isn’t it?”

 

That it was, but James wouldn’t have it any other way. He had long since moved past the guilty waves of “why am I getting off on this” from when Q first introduced to him the world of BDSM. Especially since now that he was responsible for taking care of Q. He refused to treat something so important to them like a dirty little secret, meant to only come out under cover of darkness. So that meant suspension hooks in the ceiling and photos of nights out at the nearby fetish club sharing space beside ones of Italian beachside vacations. A riding crop and a loaded Walther in the nightstand drawer. The contract they’d signed, framed and hanging next to a schematic for a clean energy engine Q had drawn up when he was fifteen.

 

Instead of saying all of this, James just kissed him, slowly and adoringly. “We make it work.”

 

Q’s eyes glowed bright in that way they only did when James said something particularly sappy (or told him to choke on his cock). He had just opened his mouth to reply when—

 

“Oh my, what is this?”

 

With a curse, Q pulled away. As James headed over to the fireplace mantle and began hiding the racier photos behind others, he could hear Q’s melodious voice, assuring Mrs. Whittaker that no, they weren’t hiding an animal in the flat, and the cushions on the dining room floor landed there by coincidence. A pillow fight, ma’am, yes, a little immature of them but they had to unwind somehow. James shook his head. How much longer could they maintain the pretence that they were just two extremely eccentric and messy men, he had no idea.

 

So long as she didn’t think they were doing something illegal. Like hiding a meth lab in their flat.

 

It took two more hours (and a lot of creative evasion) before Mrs. Whittaker finally remembered she was to have afternoon tea with her friend, Dolores, and wasn’t this a nice visit they’d have to come visit her soon. James and Q exchanged looks of relief over her shoulder as she hugged them both tightly.

 

_We're in the clear,_ James thought too soon, just as her keen hands moved over a certain spot on Q's back, paused, then returned to the same spot. Q's shoulders stiffened.

 

"There's some kind of strap on your back," she frowned, tilting her head to one side. "Are those bandages? Are you hurt? Oh dear, let me see." To James and Q's mutual horror, she began pulling at his jumper.

 

Q grimaced at James over her shoulder. "The bondage straps," he mouthed as he twisted away from her, holding the hem of his jumper down.

 

"You didn't think to remove them?" James mouthed back, brain whirring for a possible lie to feed her. After hours of artful evasions and outright lies, even his capacity for deceit had diminished.

 

"I was working under a time limit!" Q yelped, gently pushing her hands away. "It's a back brace," he explained earnestly to the old woman. "I spend long hours at the computer and need to work on my posture. That's it, really."

 

Mrs. Whittaker still looked skeptical, but Q babbled on. "It's the latest in spine-straightening technology. Uses nanotubules embedded in the fabric to keep the bones in the optimal configuration, at precise angles to each other. I'll have to send you one for your next birthday. Do let me know when that is, won't you? Well, pip pip!" The door closed behind her and Q collapsed in giggles, bracing himself against the door.

 

"Pip pip?" James sunk down beside him, unable to keep his own incredulous laugh contained.

 

"Shut it, you! I'm not the one who told her that the string of anal beads was a bracelet a friend's daughter made for you." Q seemed incapable of getting himself under control, his face nearly red with mirth.

 

James buried his face in Q's neck, huffing out an amused snort. "As I recall, you're the one who put it on to demonstrate."

 

"Oh god. She must think we're both bloody bonkers."

 

It took them a while to recover from the surreal horror of the visit, leaning against each other for support and giggling like a pair of schoolboys. When they finally calmed down, it was to the realization that Q was sprawled on James’ lap, the man’s cock fitting perfectly into the cleft of that firm arse. And neither of them had come yet that day.

 

“Interesting predicament we find ourselves in,” James murmured, draping both his arms over Q’s pliant body and pressing him to his chest.

 

“Oh?” Q lifted his head, turning sideways so James could mouth at his neck. His stubbled chin tickled the sensitive skin there.

 

"You've been very bad today," James pretended to muse. "Escaping from bondage without my permission. Mouthing off to me. Lying to poor innocent old ladies." His grin turned wolfish, a predator with his prey cornered right where he wants him. "Naughty boy. What shall we do about that?"

 

Q's wide, reciprocating grin twitched, shifted into something more seductive. "Anything you want, sir." he sighed.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

"And then, no kidding Dolores, the boy had the gall to put the beads on his own wrist and pretend it was a bracelet!"

 

The two women shared scandalized titters as they sipped at their tea.

 

"Young men these days," Dolores sighed dramatically. "They think they're the only ones who've ever had sex. Speaking of which, you'll never guess what I saw the couple in 6B do last night..."

 


End file.
